"Not so, my hero," the wind replied, "The fight is done, but the banner won, Thy comrades of old have borne it hence, Have borne it in triumph hence." Then the soldier spake from the deep, dark grave: "I am content." And again he heard the shepherds pass, And the flocks go wand'ring by, And the soldier asked, "Is the sound I hear, The sound of the battle's roar?" And they all replied: "My hero, nay! Thou art dead, and the fight is o'er, Our country joyful and free." Then the soldier spake from the deep, dark grave: "I am content." Then he heareth the lovers laughing pass, And the soldier asks once more: "Are these not the voices of them that love, That love and remember me?" "Not so, my hero," the lovers say: "We are those that remember not; For the spring has come and the earth has smiled, And the dead must be forgot." Then the soldier spake from the deep, dark grave: "I am content." _A spindle of hazel-wood had I; Into the mill-stream it fell one day,-- The water has brought it me back no more._ As has been said, the underlying and predominant element of these Roumanian folk-songs is melancholy, and rarely, if ever, in those of any nation, is the sorrow of death and parting more vividly and powerfully expressed. The voices speak from beyond the grave, but they seem to intensify rather than lighten the grief, and the calm and beauty of nature bring no consolation to the stricken heart, but only deepen the agony. This dirge for a child will speak to every one who has known anguish, as with the voice of the wailing wind:-- The river went weeping, weeping, Ah, me, how it did weep! But I would never heed it, The weeping of the river, Whilst thou were at my breast. The stars--poor stars--were weeping, But I would not hear their weeping, Whilst yet I heard thy voice. Unhappy men drew nigh, and told me of their woe, They said: "We are the sorrow of all humanity." But I had no compassion for human misery,. Whilst thou wert with me still. Then these, the river with its weeping, The piteous stars, the miserable men, All prayed the earth's dark depths to take thee from me, That so my woe might understand their woe; And now--I weep. Yet weep I not for human misery, N or for the stars' complaining, Nor for the river's wailing. I weep for thee alone, most miserly, Keep all my tears for thee!